


Fortunate

by weakzen



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst, Cipher Watcher, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:01:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15718698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weakzen/pseuds/weakzen
Summary: After Pallegina's revelation about her past, the Watcher and Aloth discuss their relationship and share a dark memory of what it means to live as a godlike on Eora.





	Fortunate

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Pallegina’s backstory and personal quest in Deadfire  
> Content Notes: Brief mention of suicide, brief mention of violence

“…I love the name of that book, by the way,” she remarked, finally breaking the long stretch of silence they'd let settle between them. She raised her needle and thread, pulling another stitch taut, then glanced over to him.

Aloth remained quiet, his knuckles resting against his mouth as he stared down at the book she hoped was more informative than its title suggested.

“I'm surprised it fits on the spine, though,” she continued. “ _Elemental Evocation: An Exploration of the Exuberant Ephemeral and Eternal Exchange_. I bet that Yngmar guy was, heh, extremely excited to enhance his exterior's extent. Except an exhausted editor excoriated him to, uh—” she snapped her fingers together, then pointed, “—excise the excess!”

A smug, triumphant grin spread across her face, but it soon disappeared when he didn't react.

“Oh, come on,” she muttered, slumping. “That was pretty good.”

If nothing else, it deserved an eyeroll. But his eyes weren't even moving to read the text. They were gazing at some distant and troubling horizon, if the furrow in his brow was any indication. She briefly wondered if this was how oblivious and disconcerting she appeared when she stared into the ether. Her lips pursed in consideration for a moment, then she offered a silent apology to anyone who'd ever had to witness her visit the In-Between.

Unlike them, at least, she had the consolation of knowing she'd be able to snap him out of it.

She just needed a better tactic.

“You know… evocation is a pretty obsolete field of magic, isn't it, Aloth?” she asked, nudging him with her elbow.

He inhaled sharply and blinked several times before looking over to her. “Hm? Yes?”

“I mean, evocation spells just aren't worth the arcane effort for the meager benefits they provide,” she continued, pretending to be engrossed in her sewing. “Weapon and armor conjurations are _clearly_ the tactically superior choices in every regard—and anybody who's not a jelly-spined apprentice afraid to get their robes a little dirty knows it.”

A delightful noise of incredulity sounded in his throat.

“Oh— That's a _completely_ ridiculous simplification,” he said, and she didn't need to glance up to know that she'd finally obtained her eyeroll. “One that's—I might add—commonly espoused by Citzal's meathead devotees. Please don't tell me you've been reading their 'essays.' I made that mistake a few decades ago and I still can't decide if their inane scribblings are more of an affront to the notion of a well-constructed argument, or to the fundamental concepts of punctuation and proper grammar.”

She kept her gaze on her work while he ranted, her stomach tensing and her sides quivering as she slowly bit down on her lip to keep from laughing. When he finally tapered off, she glanced back over to find him staring down at her, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.

“Uh. Fascinating, yeah.”

His eyes narrowed further.

“Alright, alright,” she said, spreading her fingers in surrender. “I actually love your evocation spells. I was just… trying to come up with a reason why you've been frowning at the same page for what feels like an hour.”

His gaze snapped to the text and color flushed across his cheeks. “Ah, so I have.”

He offered her a brief, embarrassed smile, then shut the book, letting it fall flat to his torso. His head slumped back into the pillow, and his attention seemed to drift toward the ceiling instead.

Seraphina raised an eyebrow and, after a moment, one of her shoulders as well, in a half-hearted shrug. She pierced her needle upwards through the fabric once more and started tightening another stitch. Or tried to, anyway. The thread refused to move. She gave it a few futile tugs before flipping the linen inside out, only to find a tight, looping knot.

“ _Every time,”_ she mouthed to herself, shaking her head. She yanked the needle free, stored it between her lips and, with some reluctance, shimmied up off her stomach to sit upright. Holding the garment to better light, she squinted at the tangle and made a noise of disapproval.

“Having problems?”

She pulled the needle from her mouth. “Next time, I'm paying a tailor. I hate sewing. Well, more like it hates me.” She looked up at him. “And I could ask you the same thing, you know.”

Aloth sighed, then set the book on the bed. He clasped his hands together across his chest. “I'm not having problems. I'm… thinking.”

“I don't think the two are that different sometimes when it comes to you.”

He let out a quiet, amused huff. “There may be more truth to that than I'd care to admit, but it's not correct in this instance.”

“Well, if you'd like to share, I'm listening.”

His breath hitched in his chest for a moment, so faintly that she almost missed it. He gave her a weak smile.

“I know.”

And, with that said, he glanced away again.

She followed his lead, hunching over as she tried to refocus on the task in her lap. At the far edges of her senses, Seraphina could dimly feel the presence of his mind, the indistinct yet familiar motions of his thoughts, the way he continually twisted their shapes tightly together, even as he labored to unravel them into separate parts.

The sensation was… comforting. Pleasant. Like hearing an indistinct but lovely tune echoing across a courtyard and up through an open window. Though, the fact she could hear it at all right now meant she needed to spend some time latching those windows shut, another thing to do on a seemingly endless list.

For now, however, she relaxed to the faint rhythm of his essence, poking the needle into the center of her own knot and wiggling it around. As she coaxed it loose, she let her thoughts flatten, gradually yielding them to her senses with practiced ease.

Her mind opened and flowed outward.

She became the ocean-soaked air and the ink-black water splashing below the window, the shuddering, creaking hull and the hazy, distant rainforest where its timber once towered above the ground. She was the lantern squeaking on its chain, the sharp resentment of the apprentice who'd welded it together, and the pride of the old man who'd quilted the blanket beneath her body. She was her own dogged frustration too, in every hole she'd mended that scarred the tunic in her hands. She was their mismatched thread colors and painstaking stitches and, finally, she was the strand between her very fingers. She followed it in her mind's eye, turning and spinning along its length until she saw how the snarl had formed, until she understood how to undo it.

Distantly, she felt herself smiling. She felt the nimble movement of her fingers and her needle tugging exactly where necessary. She felt the knot and herself dissolving into a pool of coiled thread on her lap.

And then she felt a warm touch on her leg—and a familiar yet overwhelmingly close presence racing towards her.

Immediately, she mentally jerked away and slammed back into herself, shuttering her mind to the intrusion before it made contact. Back in her own body completely, Seraphina's heart thumped and her eyes snapped open. Aloth's hand rested on her knee, idly stroking her skin. She closed her eyes again and exhaled. After a moment, she slid her hand atop his.

It had almost happened. Again. And one of these days she wasn’t going to be fast enough to deny the connection.

A sickly, familiar tightness rolled through her stomach. She needed to finally have that talk, to warn him about what would happen if he touched her when her mind was open like that. He deserved to know—and he'd deserved to know months ago, regardless of how nauseous and fear-prickled the thought of telling him made her feel. His comfort mattered more than that, though. It mattered more than her desires.

And it mattered far more than everything terrible she knew would result of that conversation.

It was the right thing to do, speaking up. She _knew_ that, bone deep, despite her prolonged and selfish silence. So why put it off any longer? Why not just say it now and finally get it done with?

She took a deep breath to steel herself and nodded once. She just… needed to find the right words.

If there even were any.

“…I hope we find Giacolo in time,” Aloth muttered, twining his fingers through her own.

She sighed, releasing some of the tension from her shoulders.

It could wait until after he shared what was bothering him.

“So do I.”

Even with favorable winds, though, Dunnage remained a few days away.

“It doesn't seem like they want him dead, at least,” she added. “Could've just ended it right there in his room, but they went to the trouble of abduction. They want him for something.”

“But for what and how long?” He quieted for a moment, pressing his lips together. She could see his jaw tensing and felt his fingers squeeze slightly around her own. “…I keep thinking about Pallegina too. And everything she said earlier.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yeah…”

“I knew she didn't have a pleasant childhood, not after what her _father_ did to her,” he said, his own eyes darkening. “But I hadn't allowed myself to realize the full implications of what it meant, being… _sold_ , to an isolated, traditionally-minded organization full of men just as insecure, entitled, and resentful as him.”

“I don't know how they can even call themselves a 'brotherhood' after how they treated her,” she snarled, her lip curling in disgust. “They spent _decades_ living together, training together for a common goal. And our crew—our roughshod, oddball, not even a year-old crew that's either drunk or bickering or vomiting overboard half the time—somehow _we_ have a greater respect for protecting our own than professional soldiers do? Soldiers who've been together through _everything_ since they were children?”

Aloth sighed. “Good leadership does make all the difference.”

She huffed, half in anger, half in embarrassment, and folded her arms.

“They don't deserve her.” Her cheeks flared with warmth though, and she couldn't help the shy, belated smile that worked itself across her lips. “I'm glad she at least had Giacolo in her corner.”

“As am I.” His gaze returned to the ceiling and he absently stroked her knee with his thumb. “It's… easy to forget that Pallegina needs to lean on other people too, when so often she's the one holding up all those around her. She's such a powerful, determined, self-assured woman. She radiates confidence, and remains so calm and collected in even the most dire circumstances. It's easy to forget that she isn't invulnerable. It's easy to think that nothing could ever hurt her—or that nothing ever has.” He glanced over to meet her eye. “And, well, all of this thinking about her has me thinking quite a lot about you as well.”

“Oh?”

“You're like her, in that regard, in what your strength means to others and how they view you in turn.” He paused briefly, hesitating. “…Knowing now with certainty how being godlike has adversely affected her, I can't help but worry over whether you've fared similarly.”

She blinked. A wry grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“What, have you been wondering if I've ever wanted to kill myself too?”

Aloth cringed hard and glanced away, his face flushing red.

“Not precisely, no.” He sighed again and started to pull away, but she reached out and caught his hand.

“I'm _teasing_ ,” she said, giving him a squeeze before releasing her grip. “If you want to know something, then just ask. And, yes, it really is that easy.”

He gave her a pointed look, though a faint smile belied its exasperation. After a moment, he reached over and pushed the book to the side of the bed—then he slipped his hand back into hers and gently pulled.

“Come here.”

Biting her lip and smiling, she slid the needle into her unfinished garment and tossed it atop his book. She shifted over to recline against him, her head settling in the crook of his neck as she hitched her leg over his hips. He circled his arm around her back, one hand curling around her shoulder, the other around her thigh, as he made a noise of contentment and nestled her tightly into him. She wrapped her arm over his chest and hugged him briefly before releasing, then let her eyes fall shut.

Her fingers splayed against the swath of skin bared below his collarbones. She could feel his heart beating under her palm and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her. He was warm, and he smelled sweetly of sweat and that mellow, woody oil he used in his hair. She inhaled it deeply, her thoughts stretching back unbidden to rifle through dusty, crusted-over memories. Back years and years, to sprawling, columned manses, to ornate, tropical gardens, and to that clearing, where a row of pockmarked, sun-bleached targets stood vigilant against the advancing treeline.

Back to the grass stabbing into her shoulders and the hand tightly circling her neck. Back to that dim, cloying laboratory that reeked of flowers and blood.

Back to that cool summer night where she finally realized what it was to be godlike.

“…I wouldn't presume to even know _what_ to ask,” Aloth said quietly, his lips brushing against her forehead.

Of all things, _that_ memory was still there. Every part of it. Her fingers strayed to her throat and clasped briefly before she forced them away.

“Honestly, there isn't much to tell. I've always been very fortunate in how I've been treated.”

“ _Fortunate?_ ”

“In a strange way, yeah.” She sighed quietly and teased her fingers across his skin. “The rude looks? The occasional hostile comment? I don't exactly enjoy them, but they're largely the extent of any poor treatment I've experienced. I mean, I've received far more grief in my life for being a cipher than I ever have for being godlike, and I know how unusual—and how fortunate—I am in that regard.”

He exhaled softly. “Well, when you put it that way, it's hard to disagree.”

Seraphina smiled lopsidedly and tugged at the ties fastening his shirt.

“I think it helped where I was born,” she said. “One benefit of growing up in a… so-called 'uncivilized' place. There were always too many matters of day-to-day survival to spare much concern for the gods, or fret about what it meant if they gave a child feathers or horns. The gods didn't chop our firewood, or hunt our food, or patrol our borders for predators and raiders. Kith did—dwarf, folk, godlike, all of us as soon as we were able to walk. All most people cared about was whether you were pulling your own weight, not what you looked like. And really,” she added, parting his shirt to run her hand the length of his torso, “poke your head out the door up there for a few moments and the godlike start to seem downright boring.”

He chuckled and rubbed his cheek against the top of her head. “From what I've heard, I don't doubt it.”

Idly, her hand roamed the warm, muscled plane of his stomach while she organized her thoughts.

“That said,” she continued, after a moment, “I _did_ understand that I was unusual in some regard. I'd occasionally catch thoughts from others referencing my 'blessing' or my 'curse,' more so when I encountered Aedyrn foreigners for the first time in Kjovda. That village was fairly large, maybe more of a city. It was a hub for scientific expeditions and it saw a lot of outside trade. There were a handful of other godlike there, the first time I'd seen others considered 'blessed' too. But none of them looked like me—and none of them could sense the thoughts of others either.

“So, for the longest time, I actually believed that my 'blessing' was the ability to peer into other people's minds, like these were some sort of special, permanent glasses that allowed it,” she said, tapping the chitin shielding her eye. Her mouth pulled into a wry smile. “A child's confident and, frankly, embarrassing-in-hindsight logic, but no one told me any better. For years. With their minds or their mouths.”

“It wasn't terribly unsound logic though, considering what you had to work with.”

She hummed a noise of consideration. “Yeah, I suppose not,” she conceded, sighing. “That was my unremarkable, albeit slightly-confusing childhood as a godlike, anyway.” She paused for a moment, biting her lip. “…You know, I was actually like you. I never fully realized how cruel people could be about it until I learned of another godlike's experiences, strange as that sounds. I got that fun lesson when I visited Aedyr.”

Aloth tensed slightly. “When you were contracting for the university?”

“Yeah.”

“I'd still like to hear more about that sometime. The better parts of it, I mean. Assuming there were any,” he added, anxiously rubbing her arm.

She chuckled. “There were. Lots of them. But… I was actually going to mention the very worst one. That is, uh, if you want to hear it.”

“I do.” He squeezed her shoulder and angled his head to kiss her briefly. “I want to hear anything you feel like sharing.”

For a moment, they gazed at each other while she shyly bit her lip. Warmth and earnestness shone in his eyes and she felt something light and wonderful cinch in her chest. She smiled and pressed a slow kiss to him, then let her head rest on his shoulder once more.

“…Well, I knew a girl there,” she began. “The daughter of the, uh, chair of the college of botanical medicine. We were around the same age when we met. Teenagers, I guess? Young. My… _employer_ thought we'd get along, that having a friend to talk to would help me adjust to a strange, new environment. And she was, uh, a bit tired of me skulking around her house during most of my free time—though, she was polite enough not to say that part out loud.”

“One of the benefits of growing up in a civilized place,” he remarked dryly.

She burst out laughing.

“Oh, we can get into _that_ later,” she said, poking his chest a few times. “ _Anyway_ , my employer arranged for us to meet. I was nervous. I remember my hands being really sweaty, and I was worried about that because this girl—Nairyn—she wanted to take me shooting. She was an archer. Had been since she could walk, practically. So I didn't want to humiliate myself in front of her by not being able to hold a draw.”

“Was she the one who taught you how to use a bow?”

“Yes, and on this absolutely _gorgeous_ piece of hers, no less.” She exhaled low in appreciation. “Oh, that bow was _something_. This delicate-looking little blackwood recurve. Must've been a two stone draw weight, but it glided _effortlessly_ , like there was no resistance at all. It had this velvety soft leather grip, too. And its limbs, they were so thin, polished to this glossy, obsidian finish. When they caught the light, you could see the grain rippling below in these speckled, twinkling whirls, like they'd actually been fashioned from two strips of the night sky. She'd named it _Starlight_ , fittingly. I thought it was perfect.”

As she pictured it in her mind, a dreamy sigh escaped her lips and she felt him silently shaking with laughter beneath her.

“What? I loved that bow—I _still_ love that bow.”

“You'd better hope your sword wasn't eavesdropping just now.”

She snuck a glance over to where Modwyr lay sheathed on the table and pressed her lips together uneasily.

“In any case, you're no longer allowed to tease me about how I look when I'm perusing expensive grimoires, not after _that_ gushing description.”

Snickering, she kissed his neck. “That's okay. I can just stand an aisle over and quietly giggle.”

“Well, so long as it's quiet.”

He slid his hand up the back of her neck and tangled his fingers into her hair. She sighed contently, her eyes falling shut again as he gently rubbed her scalp.

“…You know, I think I lost a part of my soul even before Eothas came along, when I found out how much that thing cost,” she continued. “And she just put it in my hands, like it was nothing! Told me to carry it while we walked so I could get used to the feeling of it. I thought she was mocking me, at first. I mean, it was obvious we came from different worlds. She was so elegant and posh, and I was…” she trailed off, gesturing with her hand. “Well, even the outfit she'd chosen for a sweaty hike through the jungle was still finer than the best clothing back in my wardrobe. I figured she _had_ to be setting me up for a laugh, if she was letting me put my grubby hands on something _that_ nice.

“But when I took a peek at her thoughts… her intentions were genuine. She simply wanted to teach me how to shoot with that bow. She wanted to share something that brought her a lot of joy, maybe make a new friend—and she was just as worried about how she'd come across to me as I was with her.”

“That must have been reassuring to know.”

“No! That made it worse! Because then I knew I had room to disappoint her.”

“Did you?”

“No, I uh— _surprised_ her.” She laughed then shook her head, grinning widely. “Oh, she led me to this run-down field where she practiced sometimes, in a clearing maybe ten minutes into the jungle. There were nicer areas to shoot in town—and her family had their own private range, of course—but she said she liked the peace and seclusion of the jungle. It was one of the few places she could be truly alone.”

His mouth pulled into a smile. “I can relate.”

“You're both weird. Jungles are creepy and full of spiders.”

“Exactly. They're good at keeping people away.”

She tilted her head upwards to glance at him. “Sounds like there's a story there.”

“Let's finish yours first.”

“Right,” she agreed with a nod, settling back against him. “So, I did end up embarrassing myself. By somehow managing to shoot almost an entire quiver into the grass. Though, to give myself _some_ credit, the ones that didn't end up on the ground at least hit the trees behind the target.”

“Truly?” he asked, incredulously.

“I, uh, might've actually done better with my eyes closed.”

“Well, you've certainly come a long way since then, anyway.”

She grinned and bit her lip. “We couldn't even find half the arrows afterward. I kept apologizing and she kept telling me it was fine. She wasn't disappointed, or even irritated, just… perplexed and amused, actually. Not in a smug way. But… it _was_ pretty damn funny. We both ended up on the ground laughing. She said that, next time, she was going to have me aim at everything _but_ the targets to see how many bull's-eyes I could hit.” A warm, bittersweet ache rolled through her chest. “I made a fool of myself and lost all those fancy arrows and there was still going to be a 'next time.'”

She paused, biting her lip hard.

“…Was there?” he asked after a moment. “Or is that what makes this story terrible?”

Her breath caught sharply in her chest.

In her mind's eye, she saw the clearing as though she were still that child kneeling in it, all those years ago. She could feel the grass poking at her legs, the damp tunic sticking to her back, the dull fatigue blossoming in her shoulders and arms. She could feel the smile on her face too, the joy bubbling up her chest to erupt into laughter. But, most of all, she could feel how deeply and startlingly she yearned for that promise of a 'next time.'

“No,” she exhaled. “That's not why.”

Now, looking back, all she wanted was for that slice of memory to be precisely as it appeared—just two girls. Two happy, newly-befriended girls, carefree and safe, spending a summer's eve together before returning to their homes, where they were loved.

Where they were looked after by those who would protect their own.

She pulled out of the image entirely, opening her eyes to the present. Her face felt warm and her mouth dry. A wave of nausea rolled softly through her stomach. She held her breath until it passed, then exhaled once more.

“The reason I said this was the worst story, well…” she began, her mouth trembling open before she closed it. She knew what happened next. The words were on the tip of her tongue but, for some reason, she couldn't summon them forth. After a moment, she chuckled nervously. “You know, it's… actually harder to talk about than I thought.”

“You don't have to speak of it,” he said immediately, his arms tightening around her. “And certainly not for my sake. I apologize for prying—”

“No—I want to tell you. It's just…” She grabbed her neck and bit her lip again. “Maybe it would be easier to _show_ you instead.”

Seraphina felt him inhale and stiffen beneath her and, in the long and uncomfortable silence that followed, she didn't need to read his mind to understand he was thinking of a way to gently turn her down.

Why had she said that to _him_ of all people, anyway? To someone who, for a damn good reason, valued the privacy of his mind above all else? He wasn't a cipher. They weren't in a relationship. And this wasn't an emergency, either. So why on all Eora had she felt it appropriate to propose doing something _that_ intimate with him?

And all just to share a memory?

A slimy, grotesque memory that she couldn't even speak of because it still made her queasy to think about all these years later. _That_ was what she wanted to inflict on him firsthand? She still hadn't mustered the fortitude to even _discuss_ her powers with him—and _this_ was how she planned to broach the issue?

_Seriously?_

What was _wrong_ with her?

“I, uh— I shouldn't have said that.” She sat up away from him, perching her arms atop her knees. Her hands were shaking and her face felt uncomfortably hot. “I'm sorry. For saying that. For putting you in an awkward position.”

The bed shifted as he sat up behind her. “You're not the one here who did that.”

“Sure I am,” she insisted, wringing her fingers together. “I'm so used to navigating the world by mental touch that I forget how weird it is to others. Then I'm surprised they find it off-putting when I bring it up. And, of course, I brought it up to you—the one person who will never completely have his mind to himself.” A humorless chuckle escaped her lips and she shook her head. “This is what I meant, anyway, when I said my cipher bullshit causes more problems than anything else.”

She sighed and started to scoot down the bed, but he moved and caught her. His hand spread across her chest, warm and insistent, and then his mouth was suddenly on her own, kissing her hard. Pleasure spiked in her belly and caught in her throat as she kissed him back. He crawled between her thighs, pushing them apart as they both fell back against the blankets. Her legs and arms reflexively curled around him, squeezing tightly. She urged him closer with her heels and the rough grabbing of her fingers and he obliged, settling his weight against her. He rolled his hips forward, breaking their kiss only to exhale his own breathy noise of pleasure against her lips.

One of her hands snaked up his neck and twined into his hair to pull him into another. He returned it, eagerly, cupping her cheek in his palm and angling his head to slide his tongue deeply against hers. His other hand clutched her hip, stroking its curve appreciatively as they both moved against each other.

Heat coiled between her legs and throbbed, slow, steady, and craving against the press of his own hardening arousal. A low moan rumbled past her lips and she impatiently hooked her fingers over the collar of his shirt. As she began scrabbling it down his shoulders, he suddenly broke away again to look at her.

For a long moment, he said nothing. A flush colored the tips of his ears and his cheeks, and the disheveled hair framing his face draped ticklishly along her collarbones. His eyes were half-lidded, heavy with desire, and so beautifully, piercingly blue. She squirmed under their intensity. Anxiety crashed hot through her and, suddenly, it was too much. She turned away from him.

“Look at me. Please.”

He stroked her cheek gently while her heart thumped wildly in her chest. It had been amazing while it lasted, at least. And she knew someday she would be able to look back at this time fondly. Now, though… he deserved any answers she could provide. She owed him that much—and more—after staying silent for so long.

After a long moment of summoning her courage, she reluctantly turned back.

“How long have we known each other?” he asked quietly.

“ _What?_ I-I don't know—” She sighed a noise of uncertainty and canted her head. “About seven years, I guess? If you count the middle.”

“For as much as you featured in my thoughts during it, I do.”

“Why are you asking?”

“Because, even if you don't count that middle, we've still journeyed together for almost two years. Two strange, difficult, and wonderful years. We've seen each other at our best and our worst, at our most vulnerable. Our most mundane. And at our most unusual as well,” he said, smiling softly while he caressed her jaw and neck. “I've seen enough to know _exactly_ what I was getting into with this, courting a woman who speaks to gods, spirits, and everything in-between with her mind.”

A faint grin pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Including the In-Between, yes. I know. I can make terrible puns, too. And perhaps I should more often, considering how much you seem to enjoy them.”

She laughed weakly and hugged him.

“My point is—it's hardly surprising to me that a woman like that might want to speak to her boyfriend in the same manner.”

“Wait—” She gaped, her brow furrowing. “Uh— I wasn't aware she had one. When, exactly, did you two become committed?”

He gave her a sly smile. “A few seconds ago, I suppose.”

She laughed again, with more enthusiasm.

And more uncertainty.

“Puns _and_ jokes, now? Careful, or you'll end up spoiling me.”

“I think you could stand a bit more of that actually, and I would like to be the one to do it,” he said, then paused, color blooming anew across his cheeks. “…I wasn't entirely being clever, either.”

Her stomach did a small, uneasy flip.

“Oh.”

“I didn't mean to presume anything, though. I apologize—”

“It's fine—”

“I should have asked first. I should have asked a while ago.”

“You could now. If you want.”

This time, he glanced away from her, his back and shoulders tensing beneath her hands. She couldn't tell if the nervous tremble in her arms and the heartbeat thundering between them belonged entirely to herself.

“No need to be shy,” she teased quietly, cupping his jaw. “Remember, we're two 'very special friends' with lots to talk about. So, we can talk about anything, even if I've… kind of forgotten that myself.”

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a brief smile, then he looked back to her.

“…I hope we both remember it more in the future if you decide to become my girlfriend, because I’d very much like to be your boyfriend. I want to be with you, as a couple, and I sincerely hope you feel the same.”

“Uh— Well,” she said, flushing. “That was— _smooth_. How many people, exactly, have you asked out before?”

“Give me an answer and perhaps I'll tell you.”

Her laugh this time was light and full. She squeezed him with her legs and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Uh, yes. I do. Of course I do.” As the words left her lips though, another flush of heat swept across her body and suddenly she was far too warm beneath him. Her stomach flipped again and her smile faltered. She chuckled awkwardly and withdrew her hands, worrying them together in a loose clasp above the hollow of her throat.

They were sweaty, of course.

“Can't say this doesn't make me nervous, though,” she admitted.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because now I have room to disappoint you.”

He raised an eyebrow and gave her a bewildered look. “If that's what you're worried about accomplishing, then I should warn you that you have a difficult task ahead.”

“I don't know.” She bit the edge of her lip. “Doesn't seem like it takes much, once I start relaxing and letting on what it _really_ means to be a cipher.”

“You do remember, when we first met, that you vomited on your boots in front of me before we'd even exchanged a word, right? And then you took me with you to the scene of a mass execution so you could have a silent conversation with a rotting corpse.” He placed his hand atop hers and laced his fingertips between her own. “Do you truly think after that introduction—and everything far worse we've endured since—that you're going to drive me away?”

“Uh, yes?”

He gave her an amused half-smile and rolled his eyes.

“Well, you also said you wanted to be with me as I am, whatever that meant. I want to be with you as you are too—whatever 'cipher bullshit' that means.” He squeezed her hand. “I meant what I said, Seraphina. I want to hear anything you feel like sharing, even if that 'hearing' is a bit more involved.”

“Aloth…”

He kissed her then. Slowly. Deeply.

Even as she held his face and returned his affection, part of her wanted to protest, to insist that he was wrong, that he was making a mistake. Relationships never survived ciphers—and if he couldn't see that now, then he would in time, when he turned away from her, cold and distant, like they all did eventually.

She clutched him hard with her legs and he groaned and rolled her atop him. His hands slid along the contours of her sides, down to her rear, where he squeezed and lifted his hips to grind against her. That sickly tightness twisted in her stomach again, but it couldn't stop the moan that escaped her lips, or the pleasure building inside of her, or the sudden, longing ache winding up her chest. She wanted him. Badly.

And she wanted _this_ too, in a way she'd never realized until just now.

She wanted to feel him and be felt by him. She wanted to twine her essence about his own and be pulled and pressed by him in return. She wanted to slip inside him, to run her touch across the deepest, most intimate parts of himself, and then she wanted to lie back, biting her lip, ready and eager to have him do the same to her.

His hands slid back up her sides and under her shirt, his palms gliding warm and flat against her skin as they moved along her spine. Her shirt bunched around her chest, and then her bare stomach pressed to his as he pulled her against him.

She stubbornly wanted to believe that she was wrong too, that she hadn't made her own mistake by pursuing him. Every relationship was different—and if she couldn't see that now, then maybe she would in time, when he kept moving forward with her, side by side.

Like he'd always done.

“…How does it work, anyway?” he asked, breaking away and breathing heavily as he ran his hands along her thighs. “Sharing memories and speaking with your mind, I mean.”

“I have no idea.”

His hands paused and he gave her a look.

“What? Do you spend a lot of time thinking about how you're going to move your arm and fingers to grab something—or do you just reach out and do it? It's like that.”

He frowned thoughtfully and resumed his motions. “I always assumed your talents were difficult and fairly complicated to perform, certainly more so than what it takes to use a grimoire.”

“ _Really?_ ” she asked, straightening up. _“_ Because, every time I peek inside grimoires, I find them intimidating and incomprehensible. And _oddly_ heavier than they look.”

“Well, of course they are,” he said, shrugging. “Most spells are serious, weighty matters, not to be undertaken lightly.”

She stilled, her mouth falling agape before pulling into a grin. “Did you just do what I think you did?”

A sly smile played at his lips.

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Oh, okay. That's too bad. You've got such a _strong_ sense of perception and usually pick things up so easily.”

He placed his hand on his brow and let out a muted, groaning sigh. “Perhaps. But I think I'm too weak to keep pace with you in this regard.”

She burst out laughing and slowly crumpled over, burying her face in his neck. His arms slipped around her and he pulled her into a brief, earnest hug. Then he tipped her and rolled so they lay on their sides together, face-to-face. As she composed herself and let out a relaxed sigh, he settled his hand in the dip of her waist and watched her with fond amusement.

“…Maybe there _is_ an in-depth theory of soul-magic,” she said after a moment, idly stroking her leg along his. “But, if I ever knew it, Eothas took it with him, like he took almost everything else I learned from the brîshalgwin. All I can really tell you is that creating a mental link is easier to do with physical touch, funnily enough.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“No, but if you're feeling creative…”

She grinned mischievously then slid her hand down to cup his erection through his trousers.

“Ah—” he stammered, his face reddening even as he clenched her side and leaned into her. “Tempting as that sounds, perhaps we should stick to something tried and tested. For the time being. Assuming you've done this before,” he added, his eyes crinkling with concern. “You _have_ done this before, haven't you?”

“Of course. I practiced it all the time with other ciphers, back in Eir Glanfath.”

“And with non-ciphers?”

“Well, no.”

His brow furrowed.

“It'll be fine.”

He pressed his lips together, unconvinced.

“It'll be _fine_ ,” she insisted, grabbing him by the shoulder. “All that means is that I have to do all the heavy lifting, okay? Just—close your eyes and take a deep breath. I'll find you.”

After a long moment—and an even longer look—Aloth pulled her closer to him and inclined his forehead against her own. Wordlessly, he shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“I should let you know something first, though,” she added and he cracked his eyes open. “If we do this, then I'll know exactly what you're thinking and feeling—and you'll know what I am too.”

“I figured as much.” He gave her a faint smile and closed his eyes again.

Tension she hadn't been aware of released from her shoulders. Cupping his jaw, she curled her fingers into the fine hair at the nape of his neck and smiled. She allowed herself the quickest thrill of appreciation for him, and for what it meant that he would not only _allow_ this, but actually _want_ to do this with her. She almost couldn't believe it. Any of it.

And— if she thought about it any longer, she was going to talk herself out of it.

She snapped her eyes shut and inhaled.

As she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, her thoughts quieted and flattened once more. Her sense of the world gradually heightened, briefly flaring into a tangled, overwhelming mass of every touch, sound, taste, and blurry, twinkling mote of essence she could detect around herself. Her mind shifted then slipped into well-worn grooves, where it locked and aligned, filtering the mass, focusing it, until only glimmering essence remained, thrumming sharp and ready before her.

Across her cabin, she could sense faint vestiges ofmemory clinging to objects like dim, ragged cobwebs. Modwyr glowed with swirling restlessness, but not as brilliantly as the radiant presence before her, the one pulsing with an intense luminosity only a soul housed in a living body could produce.

She gazed at it—at him—then blinked open her mind's eye.

They flowed into each other.

Aloth startled immediately and flinched away. Distantly, he gasped, as though he'd fallen into an icy river. She pressed her essence back to his and held it there, meeting his rising alarm with her own reassurance.

_Breathe._

_Find your lungs and breathe._

He did, gulping deeply as his fingers dug into her side. She stroked his face with her hand while she focused on something calming, like the sleepy tranquility she'd always experienced when she watched the mist billow across the surrounding moors from a place high, safe, and warm inside Caed Nua. As she called the memory forth, he felt it too, as though he'd sat in that window and gazed out the same rain-streaked pane.

He let her fleeting image soothe him as he acclimated to her presence.

Until slowly, gradually, he relaxed against her.

Body and soul.

_It feels… similar to your spellwork. Only far more intense._

She'd sensed the meaning of his thought before he even directed it to her. And she knew he already understood her coming response.

_Is that a good thing?_

_It is._

_It's not too much? I'm not too much?_

_No—and never._

Seraphina understood, then, the gritty determination that welled in him whenever she was at his side in a fight, and the rush of confidence he felt every time one of her spells wrapped protectively around his mind. To him, her powers were a source of quiet fascination and a promise of safety, not something he'd ever feared, not when she was the one wielding them.

He trusted her. Implicitly. Out there and in here.

Always.

She couldn't hide her profound joy in learning that, nor her intense delight to finally be able to share this aspect of herself with someone—and someone she cared for so deeply too. Her feelings bounced from her to him then echoed back, resounding with his acceptance of them, and with his gratification and curiosity.

Unable to help herself, she softly brushed her mouth over his to the same effect, and they each felt both the smoothness of his lips and the divot of scar notched in hers. Both his taste and hers as they kissed. Both his thigh sliding high between her legs and her hips rolling forward against it.

Both his dawning anticipation and her simmering excitement.

Each motion rippled doubly across their senses. Their desires reverberated electrically between them. And as he slipped his hand under her shirt again, gliding it over soft skin to cup her breast, he'd already fervently agreed with her heavy, overwhelming thought that she wanted to feel him like this sometime while they made love to each other.

_Fye, set tae tha and the lad won't make it intae ye—but a conne yer connin' there._

Distantly, Aloth sighed, then reluctantly moved his hand to her back. She felt his wary resignation, and then a vague sense of smug satisfaction as another presence grabbed at her from within him.

_Iselmyr?_

_'Twad be a richt shame too. Ye always look so pleast t'be squirmin' oan the end o' him, now'n ye'e both finally heeded my wysins and kindled each other aflam._

Iselmyr strained forward conspiratorially and radiated wicked amusement.

_He wis achin' on tha too, since he spied ye pas the animancy cage. Come closer and a'll tend tae yer connin', and how he wis stewin' o'er yer godlike pas, always'n fore'er wishin' ye'd stare tha mindseye o' yers oan him so he wadn't ha'e tae ask ye—_

_That's quite enough, I'm sure._

Mortification burst from Aloth and Iselmyr cackled in response. He pried her grasp loose and shoved her back wholly to where he'd immobilized her years ago. Seraphina understood, before he even returned his attention to her, that he no longer wanted to linger here.

In affirmation, she tugged his essence towards herself. She parted her initial wards and guided him between their crackling edges, then led him around her coiled traps and through an opening in the barrier she'd slowly constructed over the past decades. Past her fortifications, she took him further still, plunging onwards into the depths of her mind, to a place of soft darkness, where the primordial scent of the ocean greeted them.

Then, after a moment, came the roaring churn of distant, powerful waves, the rushing splash as they rolled ashore.

A chilly breeze meandered in with the water, along with soft, misting rain. Gray fog bloomed over packed gray sand. And tired clumps of seaweed and squiggling lines of salt marked the progress of a receded tide.

It was always this foggy here, he knew because she knew, on the beaches outside Kjovda. That's what allowed the trees to grow so tall, when they could drink moisture from the air as well as from the ground. Shifting pockets of mist granted momentary glimpses of them, their obscured, colossal forms as ancient and imposing as the gods themselves.

Not as uncaring though, for the shelter and safety they'd provided to her and so many others back on the western shores of the Living Lands—and for the security they continued to offer her inside of her own mind.

This place—the fog, the beach, the trees sprawling from both—all of it was her anchor hook, a mental construct based on a safe, known location, one well-traveled both by foot and fond thought. She tethered herself here before descending into difficult memories, so she'd never risk becoming lost in their labyrinths. Someone kind, someone patient, had taught this concept to her, after she'd crawled from Sun-in-Shadow, bloodied and broken. Someone had helped her construct it, too, then walked with her as she used it to navigate the twisted wreckage Thaos had dredged up and left to rot in her mind.

That someone had a name and a face, she knew, but only a ragged gap remained where both should have been.

Those gaps pitted her now, empty holes of fraying essence where Eothas had violently and heedlessly ripped her asunder. There were so many it made her uncomfortable to focus on them for too long, and more so than usual at the moment, now that she could feel the sudden concern blaring from him. She shied away and hurried on, winding her touch around the holes while she reached for the intact memory of the clearing. As she grasped hold, the fog shimmered and glowed brightly. Sunbeams sliced through the mist and patches of hot humidity wafted inside the cool air. Her towering guardians shrunk to trees a fraction of their size and the sound of girlish laughter echoed around them.

— _your arms are tired and sore and now your stomach is too, but even as you both howl with laughter and the last bit of tension disappears, you still can't bring yourself to meet her eyes, maybe if you could find at least one arrow then it would be okay, then you would be brave enough—_

 _S_ he ached with sad fondness for a moment, then felt his comforting reassurance envelop her. Even though she'd brought him here, this far, even though he'd wanted to come, she couldn't help her sudden hesitation.

_Are you sure you want to see this? It's… not a good memory, Aloth._

Once again, he understood the true weight of her words. And, once again, she knew his answer before she even finished thinking them.

The fog dissolved into the bright sunshine of a jungle clearing.

 


End file.
